


requiem

by phosphenical



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Inferred/Implied Suicide, Nongraphic violence, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phosphenical/pseuds/phosphenical
Summary: Mitsuzane knew there was no happy ending for him. Regardless, he knew defeating Kaito and ensuring the world didn't end was the only way to even take the first step on the long path in front of him. It starts with a different choice and doesn't end with forgiveness. It ends with dealing consequences and what it means to grow up.





	requiem

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Hey guys this is a re-upload from 2015 from an old account on my fancy, sparkling, brand new account. mostly because I was really proud of this piece when I wrote it and wanted to make sure it survived. Written for the [Toku Big Bang Challenge 2015!](https://tokubigbang.dreamwidth.org/) Be sure to check out the [super gorgeous accompanying artwork](https://tokubigbang.dreamwidth.org/4055.html#cutid1) to go along with this piece by brotome. as I said on the original upload of this work, by writing this I'm not trying to excuse anyone's actions in this rollercoaster of a show. Micchi is a garbage raccoon and needs some serious work to have a redemption arc. it's less about self-forgiveness and just really a big "what if?" situation that I hope I handled well.
> 
> ANOTHER NOTE: this has stuck with me in all three years of writing this, but as I was finishing the first draft of this story, [this song came on my Pandora Radio.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSWIfX_MNCY) it was a really poignant moment for me so if I'd recommend giving it a listen, especially as you read the ending. enough rambling, enjoy the story.

Arrogance was the word he was looking for—arrogance that led him to believe that he is— _was_ always one step ahead of everyone else, boasting in the safety of his mind the way that Redyue was simply clay beneath his fingers, or the way that Sid had remained as ignorant as the grand fool of the game, only bending to his own true intentions—

Arrogance allowed him to be played by the very people he believed he was playing; the ones that were within his control, like good little puppets that only needed to have a few strings plucked until they began to dance for him. Now, that unidentified feeling was giving way to something else. It was bitterness, it was  _regret,_ acidic on his tongue as bile would be, rising up the back of his throat until he clamped down on it mercilessly.

Blood tasted far better. Better than whatever this pathetic feeling was as he scrabbled for breath, chest compressed as lungs refused to expand to allow his oxygen-starved body the relief it sought. On the ground, Mitsuzane was barely able to register the cold metal of the laboratory table against his back, nor the way it dug into his skin, harsh and biting.

Even if he thought he could have moved, he wouldn’t have. There was no choice, though, not went it felt like he was frozen to the bone, his veins acting as ropes against his body, contracting tightly and refusing mobility.

Perhaps if he had any pride left, he would have tried to struggle to his feet—but that had been abandoned a long time ago, among plenty of others things. Loyalty, for one, as he shot Kouta in the back before running him through. Honor, or nobility, the way he obscured the truth from the ones who desperately wished to do something, shoving his team into the dark. It had been a while since he last allowed himself to think about such things.

Even if thoughts such as these seldom needed permission. Loud and intrusive, and in this moment,  _self-loathing_ was rather fitting. Failure would have been fine, he supposed, if it weren’t as colossal or loud, crushing any remnants that might have been a chance to fix things. Then again, he had rarely been one to do  _anything_ half-heartedly, so it was almost appropriate—in a cruel manner that was just within his comprehension.

He had probably done worse before. Well, no. He never killed anyone  _innocent._

(Now he was just making excuses for himself.)

There was a meager comfort of remembering that his intentions had started out  _righteous_ and  _pure._

(Ignoring how such intentions simply fell into alignment with his desires. Ignoring how selfish he had been. Ignoring how selfish he  _was_.)

It did not matter how things were  _meant_ to be. That was merely a far off dream that he had pushed aside in favor of the reality he wanted to manipulate—and now there was no way to change anything that had been done, not when himself had been the thing manipulated. Brilliantly so, a dazzling display that was almost worthy of fireworks, especially since it was so  _spectacular_ how everything had caught fire right in front of his face.

Glancing down at his hands while he gasped for breath, he realized that he had been the one holding the matches the entire time. He deserved to be left behind, seeing what he had done—even subconsciously, perhaps everyone else had done it for their own safety, knowing what he had been capable of this entire time. Self-pity wasn’t much better, in this instance.

There were many more people worthy of sympathy. Mai, first and foremost. And then Kouta. His brother. Peco, after that. More and more names flooded his mind, slowly at first—the gentle waves lapping at the shore until it became fiercer and taller, a storm that threatened to consume everything. The extent of the damage he had caused was finally beginning to dawn on him.

(Too little too late.)

“Is it?”

His breath caught in his throat, hardly even believing that he had heard a voice. It easily could have been a hallucination, he supposed, but his head snapped up anyway, dark eyes wide. Not the voice of the professor, and even if it had been such a possibility would have been unlikely, as he would not have taken the time to come over to address him—not when he was so busy trying to solve the mystery of  _where_ Mai and the golden fruit had disappeared to.

The snake.

Sagara was not even facing him but was rather staring through the glass, watching Sengoku scribble away at a whiteboard, frantic and possessed. The other had not even noticed his arrival, nor torn his eyes away from mountains of equations and theorems. Sagara’s garb was more ridiculous than archaic, if he were to really stare at it, but it was hardly Mitsuzane’s focus at the time.

It was difficult to get a word out. Should he have defended himself? Demanded answers, a way to save Mai-san despite the futility of it all?

“I thought you were one of the forerunners of this race, but it seems that the Kumon boy is going to end up being the victor.” He tilted his chin up ever so slightly, still not even turning to face the other. Unwilling to look down—or maybe he was sending out some sort of challenge, daring Mitsuzane to stand and face him.

He did not. There was no mention of Kouta (he was dead, dead, dead) and the mention of Baron wasn’t enough to elicit any sort of strong reaction from him—not even the fact that he was close to his final goals. He could not tell if it disappointed the snake or not, but either way it didn’t show on his face.

All the words were becoming garbled on his tongue, twisted and confused, and he didn’t even know what he wanted to say—he opened his mouth but no sound came from him, the air getting stuck in his throat.

“He will destroy the world and repaint it in his image, just as all the victors do.”

Victors? That was laughable, and Mitsuzane almost had to hold back a scoff. None of this could count as any sort of victory, not when there were dead bodies littering the streets and rubble on the ground from the life they used to know.  _I don’t care anymore,_ is what he wanted to say, but it wasn’t quite the truth. He did care, quite a bit, if not really for the sake of himself, but for the sake of others.

It wasn’t all that long ago he was not so obsessed with Mai, and actually felt concern for the people he used to be able to call his friends. Hell, he used to care about innocent, faceless people at one point, bystanders swept up in the rush of the Inves Games.

“And?” He did not even recognize the sound of his own voice, too mangled and hoarse to possibly ever belong to him. Yet it was, as there was no one else there to possibly sound as defeated. (There was him, the snake, a mad professor, and a phantom in his head.)

Sagara finally,  _finally_ spared him a glance, the first one since this exchange began, one eyebrow elegantly arched on his face and a bemused light coming across his eyes. As if his prodding and pushing hadn’t been one of the causes of this whole mess. “I was just vaguely interested in seeing what you would do. Kumon Kaito is taking the reins of fate, and will lead the world to whatever outcome he would like. It seems that victory is decided.”

Again with that word. Victory. Victory and victors, victims and heroes, it didn’t really make any difference who fell—only the ones would stood up to blame the world for their pain, and then fight against it. Or for it, maybe. Mitsuzane didn’t really know.

 _And you have been left behind._ The words hung around him, heavy, and even if it was not the intended message Sagara had vanished as though he had never been there to begin with, the lab still undisturbed. In some way, he never existed, so the comparison was fair. He claimed to be a third party, an outsider—one that observed but did not touch, and yet all of his actions were contradictory and hypocritical.

It would be easy to stop blaming the world and to blame Sagara. He kept encouraging Kouta, after all, conveniently dropping upgrades and godly powers in his lap, then feigning innocence and ignorance at the events that followed.

Repaint the world in his image. Baron was going to find a way to take the fruit that Mai had fled with, even if he had to tear time apart with his hands. Kaito was as good a candidate as any, Mitsuzane supposed. He was certainly strong enough to take what he desired, without trickery or thievery—all he ever needed was a weapon in his hand.

Headstrong and foolish. Still, it didn’t seem right.

(Not that his moral compass could be trusted. More hypocritical than Sagara, for having the gall to pass judgment on others. Mai would have never wanted this.)

(Mai never wanted any of this.)

Be careful, for you are about to make a decision that will change your fate. You will fight until the bitter end.

At first, he had dismissed it as a dream—even forgotten about it up until this point, but Mai’s new appearance had caused the memory to resurface almost violently, and it had become quite evident what she had done. Or rather, tried to do. An omen, a warning of the future that they were all spiraling into, and not a single one of them had averted it.

There was no doubt that she had gone to the others as well, even if he never heard of any of them speak of such a strange incident to anyone else. Maybe she had even tried to go to Yuuya, to warn him of the danger of the fruit he was about to sink his teeth into.

Kouta would have been too foolish to listen. Kaito too stubborn. And himself too  _arrogant_.

Could Mitsuzane let everyone die in vain? Kouta, his brother, countless others? Were they all meant to end up this way, countless fodder founding the steps for the new king to climb to reach his new throne?

The easy answer was yes. Mitsuzane could let himself die as well, alone and withering away. It was the only thing becoming of him, even if a thousand years of torture seemed to still be too light a punishment.

If he had opened his eyes sooner, instead of ignorantly following his own desires…

His mind was a blur as he got to his feet, one hand gripping the edge of the table as he had to physically haul himself upright. Surprisingly enough, his knees did not collapse under his weight, nor did his footsteps falter. He was able to steadily walk out of the room, into the hallways that remained beyond his reach.

If Sengoku noticed, he said nothing. Or, if he did, Mitsuzane couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in his ears, leaving behind the coffin of the girl he loved and destroyed. Either way, he was not stopped, and the sunlight against his skin surprised him.

For some reason, he had expected it to be nighttime. Although that might have been his self-centeredness speaking once more, as he felt the sky should have reflected the horrible, horrible mess that was prevalent in his stomach and his mind.

The streets were dead, just like the citizens. All the Inves seemed to have scattered, paving a path for Mitsuzane to cross without being attacked. He felt ill, for a moment, but continued to walk, the ground feeling unreal beneath his feet.

He could have likened it to walking on a cloud, had the metaphor not have been so innocent. No one single thought could have been pinpointed, and whatever he was chasing had been long out of reach.

His feet had a different idea, though, and it wasn’t long before a familiar sight was registered in front of his face. Hands blindly pushed at the gate, his breathing silent, afraid of awakening the ghosts that roamed about.

He would not have called this his home, a while ago. Too cold and empty, with no warmth of laughter filling the inside halls—regardless of that, he climbed the stairs, and numb fingers still managed to wrap around the doorknob and push open. The foyer was decimated, entirely overtaken by Helheim. Cracks that looked like vines crawled up the walls, broken glass lay at his feet, picture frames were broken, tables overturned.

Mitsuzane released a slow breath, walking past all the destruction with only one goal set in mind. His room had been left virtually untouched, ironically enough, and underneath his bed was a cold weight he was all too used to carrying.

(He had no way of knowing that his brother had done almost the exact same thing before their battle. Forced to retrieve an old belt under unpleasant circumstances.)

There had been no reason to use this, not after his brother’s… _first_ unfortunate death. The Genesis driver was superior in all ways, and there was the added bonus of being able to act under a different identity, as Kouta had been too stupid to realize the truth until Mitsuzane had been forced to shove it in front of his face.

Stupid wasn’t the right word. Naivety fit him better.

Now, he still couldn’t think of a reason to use this. Especially not after everything that had happened.

Deceitful. Liar.

He gripped the grape lockseed a little tighter.

 

* * *

Mitsuzane had no plan of action. He did not know where to begin, nor was he confident in his ability to defeat Kaito. Not at this point, anyway. The suit jacket had been long discarded alongside his tie, left behind on his bed with no intentions of ever wearing them again.

He had already steeled himself, somehow knowing that he would never return to that place. Acceptance wasn’t as hard as he expected, and apathy was a sweet relief, after so long. This war had torn all of them apart, until nothing remained but unrecognizable scraps.

So he returned to the lab. It was a poor idea, logically, but if there was the chance that Sengoku had discovered anything he would have to wring it out of him or plead. However, reentering proved a state he had not planned for—there were unfinished equations on the board, the pile of glass that remained from the jar containing the fruit, and yet hardly any sign of some disaster pulling the professor away from his work.

It must have taken quite a bit of… _persuasion_ to get him to stop. Knowing him, and his inability to let mysteries remain unsolved…

Funnily enough, it didn’t strike him that Chucky and Peco were still trapped in that room in that moment. Funny was the furthest thing from the appropriate word, but he ignored that as his breathing picked up in pace—he practically crashed into the door, and the metal of the doorknob struck the wall as it was shoved open with more force than was necessary.

This room too, was empty.

It was better that way, and Mitsuzane carefully crossed the length of the room, gripping the edges of the windowsill. Bed sheets were tied together, creating a long rope that touch the ground—something just barely strong enough to be able to support one person at a time. It was quite clever, and he should have known better than to think that either one of them would have waited like good, quiet children in timeout.

Mitsuzane was truly and utterly alone.

Diligently, he kept his gaze away from the dark form in the corner of his eyes, a mist that was threatening to spread over his entire vision. Now was not the time to entertain his guilt, no matter how tempting.

Once again, he had found a purpose. Even if it was meager, and pathetic, he strode away from the building, his driver never leaving his waist. There were more benefits than just having the ability to transform, after all, and hunger was not something he could spare the time to think about.

There was no way to pick a direction now. All he knew was that he was going to stubbornly avoid the warehouse in which a too-kind corpse lies. With only that in mind, he went in the opposite direction, unsure of what he could possibly say when he would come across one of those he wronged. It was inevitable to cross paths with one of them.

All he had to do was find Kaito. What would happen next was uncertain, but he had to find a way to get the forbidden fruit and fix this. Whatever this was. Everything? Even if there was a cruel barb in his heart that told him there was no way to right all his wrongs, as they were too numerous and too cruel.

In a way, Sagara had once more offered him a choice. Indirectly, but there was no way that he would have come back for no purpose—and claiming to be interested seemed a thinly veiled excuse. Too flimsy for whatever his true purpose was. If he wanted a show, then throwing Mitsuzane back into the fight was how to get one.

Still, there was no reason for him to  _not_ want Kaito to get the fruit, either. Sagara  _shouldn’t_ feel any biases, but it always appeared that he did—the way he would keep appearing in front of Kouta right when he was about to fall into his darkest moments of despair.

Unfortunate, but true.

It was impossible to miss the sounds of grunts and the clashing of weapons, a sure tell-tale sign of a nearby fight. At first, it sounded distant and foreign, and it took Mitsuzane a few moments to comprehend exactly what he was hearing. The air was still, and eventually he managed to force himself to move towards it, not nearly as quickly as he should have wanted to.

In the end, nobody could distance themselves from the bloodshed. They were all dragged in one way or another, and many of them needed less convincing than others did. There were so many goals and desire and ploys that it was no wonder they had all crossed swords at some point. So many webs were weaved that it was impossible to see their way out.

It should not have come as a surprise to any of them that things had turned out so poorly. Yet it did anyway, especially since they all thought they were right, that  _their_ way was the only way, and all it required was a heavy hand or a few more smooth words to get everyone on their side—or, if that wasn’t possible, simply defeating those who stood in the way so that they could not stand again.

Mitsuzane arrived too late to do anything—not that he was certain he really would have, not when the situation was so unfavorable. Well, that was a bit uncertain. In the distance, he was able to see two shapes on the ground from across the bridge, hands reaching out for something or clutching their chest. The heavy rise and fall of their chests showed that they were not dead.

He regarded them for a moment, but eventually were not deemed more important than the three figures he had stepped in the path of. Zack’s expression was one of surprise—eyes widened and lips parted just barely. Minato’s and Kaito’s only proved to be icy and cold, dark eyes hardened with fury.

The older woman’s hand reached for her belt, only to be stopped by a silent gesture and hand wave of Kaito. Apparently she still believed in his abilities as a king, and Kaito had always been a leader—whether he had realized it or not, whether he  _cared_ or not, and Mitsuzane was only just now beginning to understand the true power of that.

(Shadow, follower. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make people follow him.)

Silence was a strange thing in this moment, and Mitsuzane’s arms remained limp at his side. “You’re the one responsible for the professor’s defeat?” His voice was a little too hollow to be considered the same threat he once was—and the guess wasn’t farfetched. He had mulled it over in his head, over and over, and a fight could have been the only reason for Sengoku to leave his work alone.

Minato’s gaze became sharper, tight lines appearing around her eyes in a discernable expression of mistrust and probably hatred, a guard dog ready to pounce on an intruder’s throat and rip it apart. Kaito’s hands were placed in the pockets of his pants—an increasingly familiar gesture, and it was clear he didn’t feel threatened. Nor did he look surprised. “What of it?”

Something was different about him. It was obvious by his eyes (his hair, even) and the fact that his voice contained a different power to it, something low and almost growling, willing to step forward and finish their fight despite the way that victory for him had already been guaranteed. His smirk was almost sardonic.

He was either very confident, or entirely uninterested in him now. A sudden change of heart, but Mitsuzane doubted he appeared as an enemy worth facing any longer. He would have lost interest in himself too, if he were in the situation with the golden fruit practically in the palm of his grasp.

There was no point in pursuing further conversation, and Kaito moved forward, staring down at him with unwavering eyes. “Move out of my way.” Baited breath, and the stagnancy of the air remained. And then Mitsuzane complied.

He stepped to the side, and while he couldn’t swear on it, it had looked as though the taller one was almost shocked with the ease in which he obeyed. Kaito did not dwell on it though, and he stormed forward with his coat billowing behind him, not even sparing so much as a glance over his shoulder, convinced that the other two would follow him without a word raised against him.

They did. Minato kept up with him with long strides and her heels clacking against the ground, watching Mitsuzane from the corner of her eye for as long as she could—a perfect image of a statuette guardian. Zack was the one that hesitated.

He said nothing to Mitsuzane, but he looked at him with a specific light in his expression—and their eyes met for what felt like longer than a few seconds. Zack wasn’t one to forgive so easily, but he wasn’t regarding the younger one with contempt or disgust. The eye contact was not broken easily, even as he slowly began to follow his old leader (or rather, old was no longer a relevant word.)

The taller one was planning something, but he felt no need to communicate that, or to ensure that Mitsuzane understood his plans. They were both going on different paths now, though Mitsuzane was certain that the paths would converge rather quickly, just as they always had.

Things had a funny way of working out like that. And with the fate of the world bound to Kaito, Mitsuzane was going to have to face the consequences sooner rather than later, even if it was comforting to pretend that by standing up and grabbing his driver he would be able to rise above them.

The two shapes on the ground were entirely ignored, too far away to even remember their existence. Rather, he waited until the three figures disappeared around a corner before he dared to move once more. There was a rather good change that the professor hadn’t survived whatever kind of encounter he had with Kaito.

The thought should have bothered him, but it didn’t.

(It should not have bothered him, as the professor was the one responsible for Mai.

Don’t lie to yourself. Mitsuzane was the one responsible for Mai.)

Instead, there was some bitter thought of  _he deserved whatever was coming to him._ With a glance at the setting sun, he came to the realization that he still didn’t know what he was meant to do. By meeting with Kaito, he thought that somehow it would have come to him, striking him harshly. One such as him could not fight for the fruit, and yet the alternative was letting everyone die at the fire caused by an angry  ~~man~~  boy.

For now, nobody would be doing anything, though. Which meant that Mitsuzane was going to find a shelter to hide in, surely just to pretend that he was able to close his eyes and rest, instead of being haunted by waking thoughts.

It was nothing different than what he had been doing for the path months. Nightmares had been plaguing him since the start of this, only seeming to increase in their violence and ferocity as the city around him began to collapse more and more into a heap of dust and debris.

That didn’t excuse his actions to come  _here_ specifically though. While he never frequented this apartment complex, he also wasn’t dull enough to act as though it was entirely coincidental that he had chosen Kouta’s complex of all the places to hide.

He hesitated in front of the door, hand hovering over the doorknob before his mind came to a standstill. It was too wrong, too intrusive, too unkind. Then again, Mitsuzane had never been a very kind person, so such a thing would have been expected of him. It would be just like him to ruin the small home that Kouta had shared with his sister, tainting the place with his presence and ruining the fond memories that lie beyond.

He couldn’t do it. No matter how badly he wanted to, no matter how much he wanted to hurt himself with the sight of a dull flat that used to be filled with laughter and love. He bit his tongue harshly and broke into the apartment next door—so that he was close enough but not overbearing.

It was similar to Kouta’s in both construct and layout, but also plainer, lacking the same color and artistry with which Akira had decorated theirs. The kitchen had long been devoid of food, and a thin layer of dust covered all the furniture. Everyone had abandoned ship a long time ago to avoid drowning.

An untouched artifact of when civilization had flourished, and now it felt as though he stepped into a tomb. There was running water, which was probably lucky for him, but it was frigid and froze his skin to the bone as he held it in the sink, ensuring that he was awake and everything around him was painfully real.

He should have done more, instead of hiding like a coward. Almost harshly, he wiped his hand against the fabric of his pants, turning around with such sharpness and speed that he hadn’t even bothered to turn off the faucet. The noise was appreciated, in a not-so strange manner, over all the vile whispers in his head of monsters speaking in other languages.

The bedroom had a single futon. Whoever Kouta’s neighbor was, they lived alone, and that was good enough for him. It would also be good enough for Mitsuzane, and he slowly crawled under the covers, holding them closely to his body despite the sticky summer heat.

Much like a child seeking protection from their fears in the dark, away from the creatures that were reaching out for him with claws that had been proven to be very real. It was a comforting gesture anyway, despite the way he could feel his skin heating up underneath the material, droplets of sweat forming on the back of his neck.

Sleep would not come. It was foolish to even try, yet he closed his eyes anyway, steadying out his breathing as though faking a manner of such. Restlessness was humming underneath his skin, prickling at his muscles and he resisted a sigh—or a sob, rather.

As soon as that train of thought began, it was impossible to stop. A hoarse cry escaped his throat, a choking noise as hot tears began to run down his cheeks, his chest stuttering. Shoulders were shaking imperceptibly, especially with the way he was trying to shrink and duck his head under the blankets.

His lips silently formed a single name. It was horrible how he was still only fixated on that one girl, but she had been the breaking point—her death was the climax of all his sins, and now everything only had one direction to go in. Further downhill.

“This is why you were only ever my shadow.” The voice was a sharp dagger, more deadly than any weapon he had ever wielded. Still, it managed to send a shiver down his spine, and he didn’t bother to look at the phantom of his brother, not when he could already perfectly picture the look on his face.

“Stop haunting me.” He sobbed out, unable to summon any fury into his voice. He was too tired, to do anything of the sort. Stitches were the only thing holding him together, and he had been picking at them long enough for the knots to have come undone.

Mitsuzane was sure that he was going to collapse into a pile of mismatched parts that didn’t fit where they belonged at any given moment. “Shadows cannot cause harm. This was for my happiness as much as everyone else’s.”

On some logical level, the younger one knew that his brother trusted him—he had always done so, and that was ultimately his downfall and his biggest flaw. Takatora was always foolish enough to place his faith in the least deserving of individuals, always thinking that everyone else was as righteous as he was. And thus, it had killed him more than once.

Most people didn’t have to have an addendum of  _again_ to being betrayed and left for dead. And while he had no knowledge of Sid’s betrayal, shoving him off that cliff, he didn’t make a move to leap forward and try to put a stop to it.

His mind immediately went to reworking his plans to his advantage. With precious nii-san out of the way, protecting everyone else was made possible—and while it was a sad sacrifice, one that he had never wanted to make, it still happened. He had even gone so far as to work with the one that ultimately pushed him off the edge, and if that wasn’t twisted he did not know what was. “Leave me alone.”

Alone was the furthest thing he wanted to be, right now, and yet the company of a hallucination was not one he wanted. Hearing his own ragged sobs over the still running water was far better than the icy taunts of a victim.

“You showed no mercy to anyone. Don’t you believe that such pleads are too late?”

His mind was a fantastic opponent. He could hear Takatora kneeling beside him, the swish of the material of his pants something quiet, yet Mitsuzane remembered the sound and had always associated it with the older one—him roaming through the hallways returning home from work late.

He practically killed himself with Yggdrasil. On one hand, Mitsuzane was incredibly tempted to blame everything on him—why did you give out the drivers, why didn’t you open your eyes,  _why didn’t you look for another way._

“Still not accepting responsibility?” Something about his tone had softened, and yet the mocking undertone was hard to eradicate—it had simply turned crueler with faked sympathy that he knew he could see through. “If you had been stronger, or more decisive, perhaps no one would have suffered from the consequences of  _your_ actions.”

That was true. Of them all, he had been the one to suffer the least from his decisions, and other had always ended up taking the downfall. Mitsuzane swore he was able to feel his brother’s hand running through his hair, only because the top of his head was what was exposed. “I will! Shut up! I will!” He ducked away from the (false) touch, curling into an even smaller ball, as though it was enough to protect him from everything else.

His breath was murky under the covers, but it wasn’t worth it to leave the safety of the feeble nest. Foolish, since he knew it was nothing but a false sense of security, even against the simplest things he believed would burn him. A villainous mind fit a villainous person, he supposed.

 

* * *

Somehow, he managed to fall asleep for a short period of time. A little over two hours, if he had to guess, but it was enough to work with, even if he awoke with his eyes feeling gritty and sweat causing his hair to stick to his face and neck.

The tears had dried on his cheeks, leaving stiff trails that caused him to scrub at his skin as though it would somehow get rid of the feeling. Nothing would, nothing ever would, but it was fitting, as he had wanted to be the one to bear all the pain and suffering. At least, he had said as much. He couldn’t remember if it was a lie or not.

_I’d rather get hurt than let it happen to those dear to me._

Everything had quite the opposite effect. He forced himself to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen to finally turn off the water, before daring to attempt a shower. Goosebumps rose on his skin from the sheer frigidness of the water—but it did well to entirely wake him up, even if he was shivering as he managed to pull on the same clothing from the day before.

It was early enough in the morning that it was almost chilly, especially as the wind hit his not-entirely dried skin. A pleasant change, though. If he wasn’t so much of a coward, he would have gone to the garage by now, if only to tell everyone that he had been the one to kill Kouta.

That was still expecting too much from him. Right now, he had to find Zack, though, as he was the only one that had any chance of knowing what was running through Kaito’s mind—at least, the only one that would be willing to talk to him.

(Mai had the fruit. If Mitsuzane could just…

Just what?)

It was not as easy to find anyone this time around. Several hours had to have passed, with only a stiff breeze running through his hair. He witnessed the sun rise high in the sky, as well as watching it slowly begin to fall once more. Mitsuzane had considered giving up on his search for the day and simply return to the borrowed apartment to try to sleep more. Fate did not seem pleased with that.

At first, he had mistaken it for an Inves, no matter how graceful the movements were. However, it was only Kaito—and the sight of him by himself, back turned, was not one that he anticipated. Thought, perhaps saying it was  _only_ Kaito was an injustice. There were few options that he could see laid out in front of him.

Mitsuzane could step out of his way once more. He could try to demand answers, even if it might have been fruitless. He could also try to defeat him right here and now, no matter how unlikely the scenario seemed. “Where’s Zack?” In the end, talking seemed to be the best (and only) option.

Kaito froze, but only briefly before he spun on his heel to face the sudden intruder, a dark glare on his face. He was different than when they had met the day before—and all those hours ago his gaze had proven that the other still hated him but had shoved that thought to the back of his mind, as he was more distracted by other matters. This time, the fury was forefront.

“Not here.” He growled, too aggressively. Something had happened, then. Mitsuzane obviously didn’t know what it was, but he wasn’t taken aback by the tone, beyond such things at this point. No harsh words were worse than what he told himself, not anymore.

“And Minato-san?”

“No.” Kaito’s shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched so tightly that there was a slight quiver of his lower face, muscles protesting such harsh treatment. Nothing as foolish as being upset—only bottled, toxic animosity that had no outlet, and it was corroding both body and mind.

Dead? Mitsuzane’s mind had always been one to jump to morbid thoughts first and foremost, but it fit the other’s reactions to a startling letter. “I’m not going to let you take the fruit.” His voice still sounded as though someone had carved a large part of himself away, leaving behind only a doll with empty words and meaningless gestures.

Mai was dead and gone, and now only the fruit remained.

(There was no one to chastise him for such behavior. Not when there were only two monsters fighting for a prize.)

“I  _will_ take it.” The taller one’s eyes lit up with something akin to flames, ignited by the possibility of someone  _daring_ to think they could take that  _right_ from him. He would destroy this world because he was the strongest, and it was the right of the victor to rebuild the world.

Mitsuzane clutched the lockseed in his hand. Was it worth any of this? They had no more time to waste with false formalities, not as though many had existed in the first place. Perhaps the world should have been repainted.

_Hai! Budou arms! Ryu, Hou, Ha Ha Ha!_

_Come on! Banana arms! Knight of Spear!_

It made sense that neither of them had their Genesis drivers any longer—and Mitsuzane wasn’t focused on Kaito’s original belt too long, as he was too busy lamenting the loss of his upgraded one. Ryuugen no longer fit him—it felt like a false skin atop his own, stretched too tightly in some places and in other not enough.

This form was weaker too. A gun that was too small in his hands, and he almost caught himself trying to swing it as he did the Sonic Arrow, the blade an extra defense that came from habit alone.

He was not going to win against Kaito. That much had been obvious the second they had been caught in a deadly lock of weaponry. Mitsuzane’s arms were folding under the pressure, and he was doing all he could just to avoid being impaled.

He tried to take the hits he knew would cause the least damage, and summon the energy to dodge the deadlier blows. Mitsuzane’s own breathing had turned heavy, strained, and Baron didn’t look like he was struggling in the slightest. Each step was confident, each raise of the spear well-placed.

He could imagine a smug look behind the other’s helmet—or perhaps an expression of anger being satisfied. This was not the same Baron that he had fought before, just as he wasn’t the same Kaito that he had known before.

Ryuugen crashed to the ground after a particularly brutal sweep to his legs that he could not roll over, and he hissed in pain as an already bruised arm took the brunt of his weight.

“Is this all you can muster?” Baron opened his arms, making himself the prime target, mocking him in a way that screamed  _you couldn’t hurt me if you tried._ His taunts had always managed to be particularly condescending. “You cannot hope to win the fruit if you are this weak!”

There was a truth to his words. Mitsuzane braced a hand against the ground, propping himself upright with a pained inhale and sharp pain in his chest. He would have to be stronger to defeat the other—and as it stood right now, his resolve and skills left much to be desired.

And so as the other approached, walking as though this was nothing more than a leisurely stroll, Mitsuzane allowed his free hand to grasp for his belt, flicking the knife down and forcing his gaze to focus.

_Budou Squash!_

Kaito got the hint quickly, but perhaps not quickly enough—and Mitsuzane acted on instinct, pulling back the hammer of his gun and aiming at his old-time rival turned anew. His finger found the trigger without a moment of hesitation and pulled relentlessly—he knew this wouldn’t do much except provide the distraction he needed in order to dart away and ease the aches in his body.

Rather than a last-ditch effort, this was survival.

The dust cleared behind him but he didn’t dare turn around as he removed his lockseed, still forcing himself to move forward as quickly as he could, staying out of sight so as to not be pursued. The armor dissolved from his skin, and even if it didn’t provide much relief Mitsuzane grit his teeth and continued to stumble away.

Kaito didn’t deem it worthy to give chase, and that was rather fortunate for him. As it stood, if he had not escaped, his driver certainly would have been destroyed and perhaps he would have even been killed. Mitsuzane had no doubt that mercy would not have been extended to him, nor did he wish for it to be.

Mercy was not something that Baron was familiar with, he believed. Nobody had showed him mercy, it seemed, and even if such an example had been set in front of him, Kaito’s obstinacy surely would have brushed it away.

(Look at how Mitsuzane turned out, despite having such a shining, pure beacon, completely blinded—)

He found himself returning to his earlier hideout. It worked well enough the first time, and it was close enough that he would be able to nurse his wounds in private, hidden away in a corner to soak up his defeat.

Failure should have been anticipated, and yet it was still disappointing, leaving another deadly barb in his heart. One day they would surely pierce his veins—or maybe they already had, and he was just bleeding out internally, blissfully unaware. A slow but fair death.

He had barely managed to get into the door before his vision darkened around the edges, spots dancing around, and the floor spun underneath of him, tilting and teetering and trying to pull the rug out beneath his feet. No matter how much he blinked, he simply could not think clearly.

He collapsed.

 

* * *

He was not in the apartment when he next woke up. The bed underneath of him felt different, and everything had a distinctly cleaner smell, as though the world was still completely fine and chores had to be continued. Every muscle in his body tensed before he eventually took a sharp breath and sat up. There were a few band-aids placed over superficial scratches, and he stared in them in something akin to wonder.

Nobody had bothered to do that for a long while.

“You’re awake.”

His head immediately snapped up, causing his neck to twinge in protest. “A-Akira-san.” Of all the people, he had to be found by…

Her lips curled up in a not-quite smile, and she slid the door shut behind her after quietly stepping into the room. There was an empty look in her eyes, but it wasn’t one of utter despair—just probably caused by the way the smile-not-smile was an expression born far from happiness.

“I didn’t expect to see you nearby.” She sounded far from thrilled, but there was nothing to suggest that she had considered leaving him unconscious on the floor, or that she considered gathering the others in an attempt to deal some kind of ruling on his fate. “I heard you in the apartment next door. I had come back for…”

Mitsuzane didn’t know what to say.  _Sorry I killed your brother. I’m sorry he forgave me._ His mouth opened, barely, before clicking shut, teeth digging into his tongue. Limp words that held no meaning were just as bad as lies.

“I was hoping for something to remind us of our childhood. I guess it’s a little foolish.” Akira let out a bitter laugh and crossed the room to perch on the edge of the bed, near Mitsuzane’s feet. “I can’t forgive you, you know. I know what you did. Kouta told me everything, but he also told me how much he wanted to save you.”

So she had done it merely out of respect for her brother. That was noble, in its own way, and it took him a moment to really catch on to what she had said. “Then Kouta-san is—?” His eyes widened, and he couldn’t tell if he was relieved or terrified.

“Alive. But he can’t fight.” Akira shook her head, clearly torn and yet undeniably concerned about her brother. “I don’t even  _want_ him to fight anymore.” Her warm, brown eyes suddenly hardened, digging into Mitsuzane and trying to pry into the cracks of his defense. “You…you’ve made grave errors.”

He did not need her to tell him that, and yet her words seemed to hold more weight than anyone else’s. For all intents and purposes, she had remained mostly uninvolved, staying at the sidelines as silent support—only getting dragged in when Helheim took over, and when Mitsuzane had decided it to be acceptable to allow Redyue to use her.

He couldn’t maintain eye contact, not when he knew that he was willing to let her die to achieve his goals.

“You came here by yourself.” That was of the least importance at the moment, and yet the images of her sneaking her way through the streets and using clever trick to avert the attention of the Inves kept rising in his mind.

“I’m not incompetent.” Her voice was a little sharp. “Although it does seem that Kouta has been rubbing off on me.” In the reckless sort of way, and Akira ducked her head. “I don’t know why, but you’re different now. And whatever you’ve done, you need to begin to atone for all of it, even if you probably never will.”

That wasn’t mercy, not at all. But it also wasn’t cruelty—some kind of truth that hung in the middle of biased and unbiased, if such a thing were ever to exist.

However, his mind kept returning to the fact that he didn’t kill Kouta—and after her words, he knew that it was relief that was flooding his mind, even if he knew it was all wrong. The implications of surviving such a wound…Kouta wasn’t human anymore, and if Mitsuzane had to guess, neither was Kaito. Everyone was losing their humanity bit by bit, leaking through the dam until it collapsed—himself included, although he had lost his a while ago.

“If Kouta-san can’t fight, then…”

“Then it’s up to you to stop Kaito.” There was sympathy on her face at the mention of the boy that continued to fight, the boy that Kouta had spoken so fondly of. Akira squared her shoulders, and right now it was easy to see where Kouta had learned all his morals, all his ethics, where he drew his strength from when they were both children. “If you can’t, then you failed.”

She slowly stood up, smoothing out her jeans and tightening her ponytail. Mitsuzane only watched her with unmoving eyes and baited breath, her words stilling the pounding of his heart. It happened all at once, almost suddenly, and he was caught unprepared.

“I’ve done what Kouta would have asked me to.” Her voice faltered, cracking, and she took a shuddery breath to steel herself. “I do not owe you anything else, Micchi. There is food on the counter. Eat it.”

There was no farewell. Mitsuzane did not want a farewell, not when she had still dared to use a name he hadn’t touched in weeks, a name he didn’t deserve— _Micchi_  had been human and kind, a dancer on Gaim, and  _Mitsuzane_  was who he had been this entire time, capable of murder and stabbing his closest friends in the back.

Akira walked out of the room without turning around once, leaving him alone in Kouta’s room with a burden he should have taken on long ago. It was easy to pretend, as he rested in a bed that was not his own, that Helheim was only a nightmare that vanished when he woke up.

An old promise of taking on pain and sorrow was akin to children’s play, now that he was faced with the true meaning of what he had pledged.

The food lacked any sort of affectionate feelings placed into it, and yet it was the warmest meal he had tasted in months.

 

* * *

Maybe he should have taken a relic with him as he left. Something of Kouta’s to carry around in his pocket, knowing that he would never see the other again. His strength was returned, and his resolve was…for the first time, he knew what he wanted, and he knew exactly how to get that.

This was no longer about Mai. Or his brother. Or even himself. This was about the world, and carrying on the legacy of protecting those who could not defend themselves, even if more and more people began to startlingly fall into that group. This was about Akira, maybe, or the civilization that he had walked the ruins of.

(Maybe it had always been about Kouta.)

The emptiness vanished from his eyes. He was going to find Kaito, and he was going to defeat him. He would take the golden fruit and restore Zawame to its former glory, the years before Yggdrasil had come and decided when the world was going to end. Mitsuzane was not a hero and he was not going to save the world.

It was still selfish. Defending everyone was not a noble cause, as it only incited further pain and sorrow, something that Kouta had never managed to quite understand. He was such a self-sacrificing  _idiot_ …

His feet hit the path, and nobody dared to try and step in his way. Until someone did, enshrouded in a hazy, glimmering false reality, as though being forced from this world—or rather, having never existed.

Mitsuzane’s feet faltered, and he let out a choked noise—the kind that made him sound as though he was ten years younger and seeking the comfort of a parent in a time of pain. Tears were hot and they  _stung_  and  _burned_ and it was nothing compared to the force that had suddenly began to squeeze his chest.

It became impossible to move.

“I know I said it would be the last time I ever saw you.” Her smile was kind, but there was also something twisted in it, rueful and sad with a lilt of her eyes that had some sort of crescendo he had never seen on her before.

“You…” She wasn’t Mai. She was the fruit now, and the distinction was the only thing keeping Mitsuzane upright, no matter how  _wrong_ and  _horrible_ it was. A non-human Mai was no Mai at all.

There was a twist in the curtain that was maintaining the illusion, and suddenly she was closer, the heterochromiac eyes more pronounced and shocking. Mitsuzane saw her like this in the lab and once before in a dream.

He had always been taught to dismiss those. There was only the sureness of the Kureshima line, there was only the studying that he could do make his future possible, there was only the way he would sneak from his room to dance with the people he truly cared about, there was only, there was only, and he had to be steady enough to depend on those instead of the idea of whimsical hope.

“Is there a reason to fight?” She sounded heartbroken and resigned, asking the questions she already knew the answer to but also not wanting the other to answer. “There is already enough hate, and I won’t add to that. Kaito is…what he’s doing is wrong, but I can understand why.”

Mitsuzane stood, silent, trying to find any words but coming up short. For the first time in his life, he had nothing to say.

“I can’t trust you with it either. With what you tried to do.” The betrayal still hung heavily over their heads, and he was a fool if he thought that suddenly deciding to do the right thing for once would erase all of that. Still, she didn’t sound angry.

“Kouta-san can’t, so I have to.” Finally his tongue began to work, but his hands balled up into fists, quivering. This is what he would do, wasn’t it? No matter how much he didn’t want to, he would have fought Kaito to save the world. “I…Mai-san…” He could not expect trust in return for what he had done, even if his change of heart was…well, it wasn’t complete, or pure, but he was scrambling for it anyway. Between all the shattered pieces.

Mai regarded him for a long few seconds, before shaking her head. “I don’t even exist in this time.” She turned away, the illusion beginning to dissipate, no matter how much he wanted to reach out. “I’ll only reappear when…fate is decided.” It wasn’t written in stone, but she was no idiot either. One of them was going to die, and the other was going to destroy the world. “This is never what I wanted.”

The last words were spoken in a whisper, so low that Mitsuzane wasn’t sure whether or not he imagined them. He bowed his head, trying to ingrain the image of her back turned in his mind forever.

He would not let it be the last time. He couldn’t accept that. The Woman of the Beginning would have to return eventually, to meet with the victor. Could she refuse both of them? Was she allowed to bend the rules to her own desires, strong and righteous? Everything certainly would have been easier that way.

Mitsuzane lifted his head, and walked.

 

* * *

There was an unspoken agreement of where the battle would be held. Knowing Mai, she had probably visited Kaito as well—a final effort to cease the fighting, or to change his goals, but she would have also had to know that such a thing was pointless. Kaito’s pride was too large, and his pain was too deeply rooted.

Mitsuzane released a slow breath, and Kaito regarded him for a moment before tossing one of the tails of his coats behind him, holding up his Sengoku driver for one last battle. “I refuse to allow my fate to be decided by you. I will not acknowledge your strength.”

He blinked slowly, almost lazily, the corner of his lip pulling into a pathetic shadow of his once scathing smirk. Instead, it just turned out to be a butchered attempt of something more forced than anything else. “That’s fine.”

The taller one’s eyes narrowed further. It was clear that he had wanted to fight Kouta, as their rivalry had always seemed to run past friendship—or perhaps it was born from it, forging something more powerful than anything Mitsuzane could ever comprehend.

“I hate this world that crushes the weak and forces them to become strong.” His voice was a low hiss, and Kaito’s hand closed in front of him, as though that was all he had to do to grasp everything he wanted.

“I can’t let you destroy it.” Mitsuzane’s voice was calmer than it had been in a long, long time. Maybe it was because his mind was finally clear—there was no need to worry about himself, or others.

There was just one final task he had to complete. Then he could stop, couldn’t he? It was selfish, horribly so, but he could close his eyes against it all and pretend that he had done enough and no longer had to face anything.

(It will never have been enough.)

The transformations were done in total silence, only the voice of the belts breaking the stillness of the air around them. Mitsuzane charged forward with a conviction that hadn’t been there when first they fought, and it seemed to take Kaito by surprise as the ferocity of his strikes increased with every swing and shot.

There was no pain. There was only the heavy breathing and grunts as gun met spear, spear met armor, bullets digging into the ground.  _Am I strong yet, Baron?_

_Strength no longer applies to you._

Ryuugen brought his knee up, driving it into Baron’s stomach and knocking the wind out of him as he was forced to stumble back. He could finish this. He could finish this all and pull Mai back into her rightful timeline, and then Helheim would be gone and—

_Budou Squash!_

With a hoarse yell and the feeling of energy rushing to his foot, he leapt up in the air, only able to focus on the adrenaline pumping through his veins that made the world appear  _too sharp, too clean_.

Baron fell to the ground, his transformation coming undone, and for a long moment Mitsuzane could only stare, his chest heaving as he tried to calm the pounding in his chest once more. He…he had done it. He had—

Kaito’s hand twitched, and a chuckle left his throat, deep and borderline maniacal as he slowly climbed to his feet, surprisingly steady after the hit he just took. His eyes unwaveringly pierced into the other.

“Is that all?” He took one step forward before throwing his arm out to the side, mocking his transformation pose—only no zipper opened up. In fact, his driver remained forgotten about—green vines, all too familiar ones had come forth to his beck and call, slithering over his skin almost like a lover’s hands worshipping his body.

Mitsuzane, for once, wished he wasn’t correct in guessing that the other had succumbed to Helheim, but with the sight in front of him all the doubt was eradicated. Kaito’s Overlord form was undeniably graceful, powerful, elegant, a true tyrant’s.

“Come!” Despite the command, he was the one to run to Ryuugen, and the other was too late in trying to dodge the sword that had materialized alongside his terrifying and monstrous new other self.

Baron was nothing compared to Lord Baron. Every move was more intense than the last, each strike more furious, each glare solidified with harsher hatred and even more determination. The tide of the battle had been quickly overturned, and Mitsuzane was doing all that he could to just remain on his feet.

“A coward like you would have no use for the fruit. There are those who are stronger!” Kaito’s voice was perhaps the only thing he could hear over the blood rushing in his ears. “You are one of the many that needs to be eradicated!”

He narrowly dodged being entirely cleaved in half, and there was no way he could focus on a proper retort to the words—not when they rang so true, anyway. Any argument was a useless defense, each word a weak-willed excuse.

Mitsuzane stumbled backwards after a failed kick, having put too much weight behind it and throwing himself off balance. This was the end, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek, drawing the sharp tang of blood.

_Kachidoki Arms! Ei, ei, oh!_

_Kiwami Arms! Dai-dai-dai Shogun!_

The sounds were like a haunting—a ghost returning from the past, days not-so-long gone by—but then again, ghosts didn’t come hurtling from the shadows between buildings to tackle once familiar monsters that were driven mad by the taste of power and self-driven justice.

Ghosts certainly didn’t pin their arms to the ground in an effort to subdue them, being tossed off regardless. Mitsuzane was frozen in his place for a few critical seconds, trying to keep up with the sudden change of events—but the other two weren’t, as they began to grapple at each other once more until Kouta was able to get a hold of his musou saber and lock their blades together.

“You can’t beat him, Micchi!” Kouta’s voice was heavily laced with pain, no surprise judging by the lack of time he had to properly heal from life-threatening wounds. Not even a minute into the battle and it sounded as though he was already at his limit.

(He had been at his limit for a long, long time.)

(He must have been so tired, with the weight of Yuuya and Hase on his shoulders.)

 _Neither can you._ Now that the other was in front of him (alive, truly breathing, though perhaps not for long) he couldn’t find the right words. He had gone over them in his head until it felt they were imprinted into his skin, but now everything seemed to be blown away as easily as petals on the wind.  _You’re an idiot, I can’t be forgiven no matter what you say, but let me_ do  _something._

(Let me make it up to you.)

Mitsuzane wanted to scream until he lost his voice, until his throat was raw and bloody—until he could make the other  _understand_. Instead, he was powerless and watching, cursing himself silently to  _move,_ to  _move,_  to  _fight._

His fingers were numb as the budou ryuhou slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground in a manner he could not appreciate. He could sit back, once more, as he had done many times before. To manipulate the situation into something he could use for victory.

(Not this time. He could not stand by and do nothing—he  _would_ not.)

One of them were bound to die, and it might as well be him. Two on one might have evened the odds, but that wasn’t the plan right now. Mitsuzane managed to get his cold appendages to work, to remove his lockseed and undo his transformation before turning on his heel, away from the sounds of the battle.

“Mai-san.” He breathed out, scouring the streets for someone who no longer existed. Slowly ignoring all the reason in his began, he continued to force himself to run further away (closer to her.) If this was the final battle then she was here—even if it was a world away.

There was a slip, one he had almost entirely missed—it was like looking through a kaleidoscope with distorted images, far away and impossible to comprehend. She was here. He could feel her presence, as he had always felt her dancing.

(He focused on her smile, on his resolve, on the memories of Kouta ruffling his hair affectionately.)

And then he felt a  _yank_ , something painful and burning and everything around him lurched. He held on desperately, determined not to be lost even as dizzying images brushed past him, but there was a hand holding his own to guide him. Despite that, when his vision finally cleared, Mai had her back turned to him and was frighteningly still.

Mitsuzane came up to stand by her side, almost faltering. “Mai-san.” He tried again, his voice reedy and throat sore. “I need it.”

(No longer you.)

“Kaito and Kouta are…” There was a dry horror in her voice as she watched the scene in front of her with grotesque interest. She could not bear to watch, but she could not tear her eyes away either. The image of the two fighting (both Overlords at this point, having willingly given themselves up for the power to do what they believed to be right) kept flickering between two timelines.

One of armored riders, and the other of a demon versus a man in silver.

(Mitsuzane wondered if she had cried for them. He wondered if she had cried for herself.)

“I need the fruit.” Empathic this time, and Mitsuzane should have long since given up trying to get what he wanted, seeing as everyone just got hurt every time they tried to step in the way. He had no right to demand anything.

“You know I can’t.” She closed her eyes. “You’re going to—”

“Destroy the world?” His words were too cruel, too similar to serrated razors, and the smile on his face was devoid of any humor. “Like Kaito? If I don’t do something, they’re both going to die.” The smile fell quickly, and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, instead finding himself nearly choking on it instead. “Please.  _We_  can fix this and I know how.”

Mai finally turned to face him, an unreadable expression on her face as she grabbed his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “I already tried. And I failed. In the end, I couldn’t do anything to stop this or any of you. Why do you think you can?”

She wasn’t trying to be pessimistic, not really, but the truth felt a lot worse when even she had come to terms with an ending only filled with corpses and tragedy.

Mitsuzane didn’t really have an answer to that. “I can’t know until I try.” Wasn’t that the only fair way to answer? Or had he long since forgotten how to be fair? “But if I can start to make things right…if Kouta-san does this, he will only suffer more. He’s willing to suffer more. I’m ready to take that on for myself.”

Pain and sadness were always going to exist…

_That’s why I’d rather get hurt than let it happen to those dear to me._

“Then you have to promise. Promise me that you’re going to try to fix everything, and you have to  _mean it._ ” Her grip tightened painfully, not that she seemed to be aware—and her hands emitted a scalding warmth.

This wasn’t Mai, not really, but she was so much like her that Mitsuzane could not deny her of anything. Silently, he placed his hand overtop hers before slowly pulling her grasp away. “Nobody else had to die. I’m going to fix everything.”

His gaze was unwavering, and in that moment he was willing to sacrifice everything—but now, seeing her face, he knew that Mai wouldn’t give him the fruit. The second that passed between them felt like an eternity.

Until she lifted her hand and did. She ended up choosing him, or rather what he promised, and the golden fruit glowed in a dull sort of manner—Mitsuzane, for all his delusions of grandeur, had expected to be blinded by it.

“…thank you.”

(Mai had only hoped she didn’t make a mistake.)

There was not taste to it, and Mitsuzane couldn’t be certain if that was because his nerves were shriveled and his tongue was paralyzed. His breath caught in his throat when he took a step backwards, feeling as though he had been plunged into icy water, so different from the feeling of the same golden light that Mai seemed to emit.

Time seemed to freeze—definitely not in the literal sense. The image of a barren wasteland dissolved around them, replaced with streets that were too familiar and as empty as they had always been. A quiet rustle of the air behind him, and Mai’s eyes drifted to the newcomer, no longer watching Mitsuzane’s transformation.

“Not the victor I would have expected.” The snake was too detached to sound truly bemused, yet his tone carried the same sort of notes. Was this against the rules? To simply be given humanity’s evolution without winning the fight for it? Mitsuzane turned on his heel to face him with a carefully blank expression.

(He didn’t feel all that different. There was a power humming underneath of his skin, threatening to break loose, but…

Why didn’t he feel different?)

“So you get to decide how the world will end. How shall it be done?” His lips curled up into something too soft to be a smirk but too cruel to be anything else. In his eyes was something inhumane, a silent way of telling them that he had witnessed the destruction of thousands of planets before—and nothing made this one different.

There was ice. There was fire. Natural disasters to tear the Earth apart at its core. Or he could simply allow the Inves to run free until everything had been taken over.

He chose none. He stepped away from Mai and her soft sound of confusion did nothing to halt him. “If I destroyed everything now,” He began slowly, casting a sweeping glance at everything around them. “What good would it do?”

Sagara’s eyes narrowed, the first sign of displeasure he’s ever seen on him. “You have no other choice.”

“Fate is in my hands now.” He hissed vehemently, meeting the gaze with a deadlier one of his own. There would be destruction, yes, but not of the Earth. Mitsuzane had all the powers of a god, stronger than an Overlord and any Inves.

He had all the powers of one stronger than a snake. “You cannot exist here. You two have no place if you do nothing.” Sagara was unafraid, standing tall and with a tilted chin, perhaps too proud to be only an observer—even as he read Mitsuzane’s intent.

Mitsuzane turned back to stare at Mai for one moment, and she gave him a small nod. “You are the one who had no place here.” He could pretend that Sagara was responsible for all of this—and he had a burden to bear, certainly, if only for pulling Kouta around on a leash.

It was ironic, maybe, for him to form the image of Redyue’s halberd in his mind, to tug it whatever corner it may lie until his hand closed around cold metal, steady and just enough to remind him of his victory.

If he controlled fate, then fate demanded the extermination of the snake.

 

* * *

Peco laughed loudly as he ran to catch up with Zack’s long strides, surrounded by the rest of Baron as they made their way down the sidewalk, acting as stupid teenagers tended to—too loud and a little rambunctious, feeling invincible.

However, a strange feeling came over him and his feet came to a halt as he looked over his shoulder, his lips parting slightly. Dark eyes scanned the street behind him, and he could simultaneously feel his brow furrowing.

What in the world…

“Peco?” Zack rubbed his knuckles against the top of the other’s head, as the dazed, distracted look worried him slightly. He seemed to suddenly be zoned out, and this was his way of bringing the boy back to reality—they had all called his name when they noticed he just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

After a moment, Peco blinked and then let out a shout of protest as he tried to duck away and push against Zack’s ribcage. “Urg, you stupid lamp post.” It was hard to shake off that feeling. “You mean you guys didn’t…?”

“Didn’t what?” Zack tilted his head, and now the worry was making itself far more apparent on his face, Peco’s behavior beginning to bring him concern. “Is there something there?” He scoped the area behind them, finding the exact same thing the other did: nothing.

“I, ah…nevermind.” Peco shook his head with a small smile, trying to dismiss the issue, even if it had unsettled something in his chest uncomfortably, leaving some sort of dull ache. A hand rubbed against his skin, his smile falling to show a small grimace.

“Are you coming or not?” A rough voice interrupted their moment, followed by something very close to a scowl. “I will leave you behind, if there is something more interesting here.”

Zack rolled his eyes in good nature, used to his antics and mannerisms. “Yeah, yeah, we’re coming.” He nudged Peco with his elbow once more before placing his hands in his pockets to hurry over.

The bad feeling seemed to vanish, and the short dancer’s grin found its way on his face, bright and impossible to tame. “Coming, Kaito-san!”

 

* * *

“ _Non_!” The word was articulate and loud, with just enough intonation and emotion that it could be called rather theatrical—Jonouchi kept his mouth shut about that, as he had no death wish at the moment.

“O-Oren-san!” He rubbed the back of his head from where the older man had hit him with a towel to express his displeasure. Complaining was not something that was accepted either, as true men were forged from the heat of the kitchen.

Or something like that, anyway. Jonouchi didn’t understand it at all, but he had become an apprentice for some reason, even if there was now flour coating the lens of his glasses in an irritating fashion.

“Do it again!” Oren Pierre Alfonso was not one to believe in anything less than perfection, and the bowl that Jonouchi had been working on was regarded with an expression akin to disgust—pursed lips and the whole package.

“But I just—”  _Finished._ The younger one almost shrunk backwards at the look the other gave, and he was normally not one to admit his cowardice so forwardly. Instead, with a quiet grumble he emptied the bowl out, to start the recipe over again.

“Ah! Where is that  _jeune fou_ [1]?! Late again?” Oren threw his hands up in frustration, sighing indignantly. It wasn’t a far stretch to assume that he would be stomping his foot soon. “I should simply fire him!” ([1]  _foolish boy._ )

“Huh? Fire who?” A boy with dark hair entered the kitchen, looking like he just woke up as he snacked on a slice of cake—which he was holding with his bare hands. “Did Jonouchi ruin your microwave again? Oh, wait, he didn’t tell you that was him.”

Jonouchi let out a shriek, and Oren lunged for the worker that ate more pastries than actually doing his job, and the dishes were piling up in the sink.

“ _Hase-chan you idiotic_ — _!_ ”

 

* * *

“Kouta, how is the adult world working out for you?” Yuuya leaned against the railing of the highway, hands folded with a small smile gracing his lips. “Do you miss Gaim?”

Kouta adjusted his helmet, just enough so that he could sheepishly scratch the back of his head. “Yeah, I do, but I’m helping my sister out, so…” He gave a one-shouldered shrug, tapping his fingers against his leg. “I…really want to come back, but I’m done with that kid stuff.”

The gray-haired one only let out a quiet laugh at his response, and Kouta was caught in a moment of admiration for the other. Despite being just as old as he him he seemed to have his life in order—able to balance the responsibilities of dancing and real life without collapsing.

“That’s good, but you should come back to visit sometime. Everyone misses you, and I’m sure we could find room for you in our choreography.” Yuuya was aware that the other probably would not take him up on the offer, and yet he had to try anyway.

Everyone on Gaim was family, and even if Kouta had to leave that for other reasons, it was still important to him—and it didn’t mean that all the warm feelings he had for everyone vanished with him quitting. There was some bitterness, sure, about being left behind, but otherwise…nobody hated him. That was what mattered.

“Thanks.” Kouta nodded thoughtfully, clearly mulling it over in his mind. “Ah, well, I have to go before the food gets cold!” He patted the back of the small car. “It was nice to see you, though. Whenever Mai stops being mad at me, tell her to come over! Nee-chan misses her.”

Yuuya watched him drive down the road, unable to stop the quiet chuckle from escaping his throat as he returned the wave. Kouta had kept looking back until he couldn’t anymore, disappearing around the corner as the sunlight hit the corner of the block.

 

* * *

The suitcase was placed down atop the desk, and Takatora let out a slow sigh before sinking into his chair, eyes observing the view out of the window for a few, long minutes. He had work to do, he knew that. A stack of papers awaiting his undivided attention.

Sometimes, it was nice to remain in the stillness, something gentle and soft. Even if himself could hardly be described in a similar manner. “Overseer.”

Well, it  _had_  been peaceful, and Takatora swiveled around in his chair, fullscreening the face of Professor Ryouma Sengoku, arching an eyebrow in a no-nonsense manner. He had plenty of practice with it, especially ever since the scientist had been assigned to work underneath of him. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing much really. I just wanted to warn you that it’s very possible the fire alarms will go off in the next few minutes. Just a false worry, though, I assure you!” Ryouma had a certain, telling grin on his face whenever he knew he had messed up—and rather than feeling upset, he was proud at having figured out ways to annoy more people. ‘Social research.’ He claimed.

“Very possible?” Takatora’s voice was wry, and honestly, such news was tame at this point—through everything else he had endured and gone through when it came to Ryouma’s antics. Surely enough, the alarms did blare out only a second after he had finished his inquiry. “Do you really have it under control or do I need to evacuate?”

“Minato-kun has the fire extinguisher.” Ryouma nodded solemnly, well aware that it was not really an answer. “Perhaps you should consider a wife or a good night’s rest, Ta-ka-to-ra. You come into work with such a grumpy look all the time.”

The other was not stupid enough to believe that Ryouma was concerned with his wellbeing, and for the time he decided it was most likely safe enough to stay in his office. “I am fine with living alone.” His voice was curt, and there was an almost imperceptible shuffling noise outside of his office. “Sid, if you are eavesdropping you may as well come in.”

More shuffling, and the door finally opened. Sid respectfully tipped his bowler’s hat, acting as though he hadn’t been caught doing anything wrong—instead, he was just stopping by for a nice visit. Maybe one with tea. “The Kureshima manor,” He hummed, plopping down on a nearby chair, pulling out his tablet and absentmindedly swiping at it. “And the only son. You’re hardly alone, though, aren’t you? All those servants to serve the Overseer.”

Takatora sent him a scathing look, but just as he was good at giving those, Sid was equally skilled in ignoring them.

There was nothing wrong with being alone, and he found he could be content with not needing anyone else.

 

* * *

Mitsuzane had caught a glance of himself in a broken window. He had to lift a hand to his face to be certain that it was truly him—funny how he hadn’t realized the extent of how much his appearance had changed—his hair was a startling bleached blonde, his eyes no longer matching in color.

One a dark brown, and the other the color of scarlet blood.

“Micchi.” Mai walked up behind him, and in the reflection Mitsuzane was able to see her tentatively reach out for his arm—but the hand recoiled quickly and she let it fall by her side once more. “We should leave now.”

Mitsuzane only continued to stare at his reflection emotionlessly. The dark scarf around his neck, the armored top. “You still have a place here.” The words came out soft and low and he saw something in Mai’s expression change before he turned around.

“You heard what Sagara said. We saved Earth, and we can find a new home—”

(Mai did not want a place with him for the rest of time, even if he was not the same as he had been before.)

A smile came onto his face easily, one that lacked any edge to it, and it felt…nice. “Mai-san, I promised you.” He ducked his chin into the material of the scarf, satiny and smooth—he was mildly comforted by such a familiar object. “I don’t think…” He cleared his throat. “We can’t exactly live without Sagara. The fruit, I mean. And since you already gave it away…”

The severity of the words didn’t settle onto her immediately, but when they did she shook her head firmly. “No.” Her voice was sharp with anger, and she straightened her back to prepare for a fight. “No, Micchi. This is my decision too!”

(In the end, Mitsuzane still hadn’t changed that much, he supposed, if he was still taking that choice away from Mai, choosing her life for her.)

“I know where to go.” Mitsuzane stepped away from her, and the action tore at his heart. It was easy, with the powers of the fruit to see that this Mai was still the girl he loved once upon a time—but now he began to doubt even that, as he didn’t know where obsessions lied and how closely the two could overlap and intertwine until there was only a former shadow of something that could have once been pure. “Unlike you, I know where to go.”

Time was a collection of threads. It took just a moment to find the right one, and he traced it back further and further, eyes closed in concentration. All he had to do was pluck at it carefully, dance on the edges of it to ensure nothing else would become unraveled at the same time.

Mai was reaching for him, behind him, but she was already far left behind and it was too late—the success lifted something from his shoulders and he was able to breathe freely without the fear of suffocating. He should have said goodbye, maybe.

No. That wasn’t appropriate. A final apology was, though, but he couldn’t turn around and shout the words at her without them getting lost on the way.

He felt like he had said his farewells long ago.

Mai would understand.

Or, if she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t remember long enough to hate him for it.

 

* * *

Without Sagara, there was no such thing as the evolution of Helheim. Helheim didn’t  _exist._ But in that same case, Mitsuzane had been careful to erase himself, too, to tie up all the ends and connections left to the snake. Being a god and the main bearer of the fruit left him in a tricky situation and no risks could be taken. He was still present, but now he was the phantom.

He watched Mai as she danced with Gaim.

He was able to watch over Kaito’s pain, and understand why he had done what he had done, and why every word that left his mouth was one of truth and anguish.

He observed his brother grow up without a shadow clinging to his leg.

(And, he had watched Kouta, smiling freely as he grew up into an adult that everyone could still be proud of.)

It was funny, though, that he stayed around. There were other places to spend eternity, but none quite like Zawame—and a rueful smile tugged at his lips as he thought of all the dreams he had tried to visit—and all the dreams he was rejected from.

It was also funny how the people he cared about the most were the ones that denied his presence the most. Perhaps because he was so involved with them that the job had to be thoroughly done to wipe his name from their memory.

Mitsuzane had tried to dance alongside Mai, but she didn’t see him.

Mitsuzane had reached out for Takatora, only to be met with a confused gaze and a softly articulated ‘who are you?’ as though he was merely the random face of a stranger that his mind had just recreated to come to him during the night. It was more scornful than anything else his brother had ever done to him, and like everything else, it had not been purposeful.

(He hadn’t attempted anyone else on Gaim, and certainly not Kaito. He didn’t want to see Kaito, and Kaito didn’t want to see him.)

All his efforts had become half-hearted, worn down by all the failures, and trying was simply just habitual, a routine he did every night before wandering off. That is why it shocked him to the bones when he managed to achieve something. Inside the Gaim garage, the same soft light cast its glow on everything—the same stools, with the popcorn machine placed exactly where it had always been.

There was a quiet squeaking coming from the swing, and Mitsuzane slowly turned his head. Peco swung his legs, back and forth, back and forth, silent and unwilling to fill in the space. “Who are you?” He asked eventually, not even bothering to look up. The boy turned god descended the few stairs, gracefully ducking under the arch.

Suddenly, he had to bite down on his tongue to stop hysterical laughter.

This was deserving—the person he cared about the least was the only one he could get through to. “You wouldn’t know me.” If he tried to smile, it simply would have come out sad, so he didn’t try at all. After brief consideration he waved away his godly apparel, taking on his old image.

A very old image. Peco slowly stopped swinging and got to his feet. “I know but…” His hand reached up, rubbing at a strange pain in his chest that he couldn’t comprehend. “You’re weird. And just a figment of my imagination.”

Mitsuzane couldn’t deny that, and he placed his hands in the large pocket of his Gaim hoodie. He shouldn’t have worn it, and yet it was the only thing he could thing of—one last chance at being recognized.

There was no such light in the Baron dancer’s eyes. “We met once,” Mitsuzane began carefully, not even daring to move. “In another life.” He shouldn’t have even given away that much. Memories were fickle and dangerous.

Peco blinked at him. “I don’t believe in that shit,” He said automatically. “But it feels like something that could have happened once. Maybe.” His shoulders raised themselves and then fell.

“In another world?” That was slightly amusing, and a corner of Mitsuzane’s lip pulled upwards.

“…yeah.” Peco turned around to resume his position on the swing, elbows wrapped around the rope that was fastening it to the ceiling. “But I don’t know you here, so I don’t think you have to keep following me around or anything.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.” His voice was soft, but the truth was fully flayed and exposed, perhaps like him, finally. “Zawame was my home too.”

“Was?”

“Was.”

The shorter boy accepted this with a small nod. “I recognize that pattern, you know. As the loser team.” His tone was mocking, a familiar quip, but his facial expression didn’t match up with it, as though the words were just instinct lacking any bite. “Gaim.”

“I…was on Gaim.” Mitsuzane took a step closer, taking one last glance around the garage. A name was not necessary for this exchange. Ghosts didn’t need names, they needed a peaceful resting place. “I won’t be able to reach you again.”

(I don’t want to be able to reach you again.)

“I don’t mind. At least, in this dream place, I guess.” Peco chewed on his bottom lip, deep in thought. “Will I even be able to remember this when I wake up? Have you visited before? Or is this your first time and you’re just saying that?”

The darker-haired one kept the smile fastened on his lips as though the expression had been nailed there the entire time as he shook his head. “No. It’s better that you forget about this.” Always better that way. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

“In that other life?” Peco narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, unamused. “Whatever you’re looking for, you aren’t gonna find it here.” A sudden strike of something close to animosity, and Mitsuzane bowed his head towards him, knowing it was deserved.

There was no good reason for Peco to be hurt that badly.

“For what it’s worth,” He slowly lifted his head, straightening his hair as the illusion fell to pieces around them. “I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

This time it was the final task, before it was all over. “Kouta-san.” Mitsuzane had pulled the other to the shrine, elegantly leaning against the trunk of the tree, one foot propped against the bark behind him. It was magnificent and beautiful when it was where it belonged, rather than in a laboratory in Yggdrasil.

There was no reason for it to be uprooted, though. Not here.

Kouta didn’t look at him, but a strange look came over his face and he turned his ear—almost as though he thought it would help him determine the source of the noise. “I…” He hesitated, before setting his bouquet of flowers down. It was clear he didn’t hear the younger one. “Whatever you are, you’re free to go.”

Truly too kind for his own good, and Mitsuzane laughed quietly before pushing off against the bark, walking closer towards the other. “I’m not a tormented spirit, if that’s what you are implying.”

Too many words were beyond Kouta’s grasp, though. “I think…your name is Micchi, right?” Kouta looked directly up at the clouds, following the lines of the shapes formed against the blue palette. Perhaps he thought he was talking to god. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do.”

It probably wasn’t too far off. Mitsuzane didn’t use that name anymore, but there was no point in disputing it either. Not when Kouta would have refused to hear any argument against it, even in this world. Something he was certain of. “I did what you would have done, Kouta-san.” He was just talking to himself at this point, and the audience was just for formality as he tried to swallow the tears.

Not a single one fell.

“You don’t have to be shy, you know.” Still not looking down and tearing his gaze from the sky, Kouta put his hands in his pockets and scuffed the ground with the tip of his shoe, his grin brightening. “I’m not freaked out by the paranormal! Or supernatural. Whichever one doesn’t offend you?”

(That wasn’t true. Horror movie night in the garage usually ended up with Kouta in one of their laps, hiding against them. The memory took him suddenly, and he found it difficult to catch his breath. Even if he didn’t need to breathe any longer.)

Kouta was always a source of light. One that was blinding at times, but now he was suddenly within grasp rather than resting high above all of them. He deserved this happiness. Him and Mai, and everyone else he hurt.

Mitsuzane couldn’t help but return the smile.

“It’s okay. I have to go now, anyway.” Mitsuzane should have left a long time ago, but he allowed a few moments of weakness as he moved forward to place his hand on Kouta’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “We’ll always be friends, won’t we?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer as he began to walk away, footsteps falling against the ground until his solidity began to fade away, blowing away in the dust. When Kouta finally turned around he couldn’t help but wonder who exactly the boy with the sad smile was, and why he couldn’t stay a little longer.

  



End file.
